‘Mike?’
‘Mike Greenway.’
I was sure my hair was standing on end. ‘But …’
‘We carefully share intelligence. But he doesn’t know me as Robert Kennedy. You can call me that though, it’s sort of my real name.’
I leaned forward and spoke quietly. ‘Someone else who knows you as that is carving your initials on people.’
‘Yes, that must have been on the orders of one of the men in the little empire I’m working to dismantle. It has outposts in just about every large town in the south and west of the country, starting in Reading.’
‘So you’re working within one of his gangs.’
‘As what he likes to call a sub-contractor. I have a gang, only I prefer to call it a unit, of my own – some with genuine, and some with phoney form. The idea is to put him out of business, starting by recruiting his hoodlums, picking their brains, keeping some on and taking the others out of circulation for a while. They don’t know they’re helping the law, of course.’
‘But he knows your real name.’
‘I went to prison for six months not so long ago under that name.’
‘But he’s really on to you. Two police informers were recently found murdered at Sheepwash Farm. That is your hideaway, isn’t it?’
‘Yes, it is. But no one is actually on to me in the way you mean. The man in Bristol resents my presence; he seems to think I want to force him out, which I do, but not how he imagines. Somehow they found out about the farm and hoped, as with Morley, to lay the blame for the two murders on me. I shall have to sell the place now – I can’t go back there. I shall also have to leave the Bristol area for a while. I don’t want more people killed because of my presence there.’
‘But Morley didn’t tell them about it under duress surely – he can’t have known about you.’
‘No. I don’t know how they found me. It’s worrying.’
Patrick returned with the whisky.
‘Thank you – your good health,’ said Kennedy, raising his glass.
Patrick said, ‘I take it the purpose of this visit is to deliver a warning-off.’
‘Nothing unfriendly. It’s more to clear the air and answer any queries you might have.’
‘From what he’s told me he has to be working for F9,’ I said to Patrick, voicing something I had wondered about for a while. ‘David Rolt’s unit.’
Kennedy said, ‘I’ve heard you have real brains, Ingrid. Yes, but David retired last year to take over the family stud farm when his brother died suddenly, although what he knows about horses is anyone’s guess. I was lucky enough to be promoted to second in command of the department. But I don’t want the top job, this is my last – then I’m off too.’
I quickly related to Patrick the rest of what had been said.
‘So if you carefully share intelligence with Greenway,’ Patrick said to Kennedy, ‘why are we getting under one another’s feet in warehouses in Bristol? What were you doing delivering stuff to the said warehouse and why the hell is it my brief to find out who mutilated and killed Detective Sergeant Cliff Morley when it appears that you knew all along?’
Not remotely put out, Kennedy ticked off on his fingers, ‘First, Mike and I don’t share everyday detailed information as a matter of routine so that convergence was just an unfortunate coincidence. One of the reasons I’m here tonight is to prevent a repetition of such occurences. Second, we were actually bringing the van with a view to making off with quite a lot of what was stored there, to rattle the enemy as well as to see what stolen goods they had hold of. We’d waylaid the real delivery boys – it was a regular run, same time, same night, every week believe it or not – and they’re now helping with enquiries quite a few counties away. The idea was not to meet anyone at the warehouse. And third, I don’t know the real name of this man, only that he looks like a stork, calls himself Steven Ballinger, and is the so-called managing director of Slaterford and Sons, which as I’m sure you must know by now, is a money-laundering tool. It only changed hands recently and they’re hoping to get planning permission very soon to knock it down and build more shop units with luxury flats over.’
‘Why not just arrest him?’
‘I want real evidence. I want to know where they take people to torture and murder them and who else is involved. I want all of them.’
‘Isn’t the shop in Walthamsden their HQ?’ I asked.
‘It doesn’t exist. Or, at least, it’s just an empty room with a name board on the door in an office complex.’
‘Well, that’s nice to know,’ Patrick said crisply. ‘Greenway told me to look the place over.’
‘Your predictable annoyance is another of the reasons I’m here,’ Kennedy said.
Patrick was more than annoyed. ‘And what was all that posturing and blazing guns about then? Not to mention beating up DCI Carrick!’
‘I could hardly be expected to know who you were, could I? Not until I saw Ingrid and remembered that Mike had told me that you were on the job. And there’s always going to be collateral damage, even among the local police as we simply can’t tell them what we’re doing. I would like to point out that your activities ruined a well-planned operation that Bristol CID are now crawling all over and you wounded two of my men.’
‘Were they cops?’
There was a pause before Kennedy answered. ‘No.’
‘Thought not; just co-opted thickoes. What were you going to do with Carrick?’
‘Pretend to change my mind and shove him out of the van somewhere fairly close by.’
‘You could hardly have taken him along to your own secure place.’
‘No, only I and my closest, police, colleagues know where that is.’
‘MI5 do too,’ Patrick said with a little smile. ‘You know who Carrick is, I suppose?’
The other looked blank. ‘What d’you mean?’
‘You don’t know. His mother Orla changed her surname to Carrick for the sake of respectability when she had him – she was unmarried. The father went overboard from a racing yacht off the Scottish coast and until quite recently was presumed dead. You’re that man.’
I thought the ensuing silence would never end.
‘Why didn’t you contact her?’ Patrick continued.
When he eventually spoke Kennedy whispered, ‘I nearly died. Found myself washed up on an island somewhere in the Sound of Sleat where the only inhabitant was a lighthouse keeper. He can’t have found me for a while as I was stone cold, blue, when he did. But the man saw that I wasn’t stiff like a corpse and lugged me back to his cottage where he stripped me off and wrapped me in every blanket, garment and rug that he possessed over every hot water bottle that he could find before phoning the mainland. I’d bashed my head and lost a lot of blood too and when I woke up in Oban Hospital I didn’t know who I was. I didn’t know who I was for the best part of two years and even then, when I remembered, my old life, as I thought of it, seemed unreal. It belonged to someone else, another man.’ His voice dropped until I could hardly hear what he muttered. ‘No, I couldn’t face digging up that past. Things were still in a kind of mist. There were still big gaps and I didn’t know what I would find. Orla … do you know … is she still alive?’
‘No,’ I told him. ‘She was killed ten years ago in a road accident in South Africa.’
Kennedy sat still, eyes downcast. ‘He must hate me.’
Patrick said, ‘We can’t answer for James. But, no, I don’t think he does. Not when you tell him the circumstances.’
‘It’s in the past. I can’t … meet him.’
‘You must!’ Patrick exclaimed. ‘He thinks you’re a criminal!’
‘No.’
‘At least allow us to tell him the truth!’
‘Will he be able to keep it to himself?’ Kennedy said angrily. ‘If he’s pleased by what he hears will he be able to conceal it or will he go round with a big grin on his face? If people ask will he blurt out why he’s happy and send ripples of gossip a
nd rumour right through the Avon and Somerset Force and from there to the outside world? No, it’s too risky. He knows I exist. Isn’t that enough for him?’
‘It isn’t,’ I said. ‘Not judging by how upset he was after you’d driven away the other night. Despite your mask he knew it was you.’
‘Then you have your answer. The whole operation would be jeopardized by saying anything at all. When it’s over and I’m out of it, then … well, everything will be different, won’t it? Then I’ll … I’ll think about it.’
He then went on, rather coldly, to inform us that he would immediately contact Michael Greenway, who for professional reasons he would prefer not to know his real name. He would tell him that there was no need for the work to be duplicated and that it was his, F9’s, case. He assured us that although it was not of foremost importance his department was as keen as SOCA to find Morley’s killer, or killers. Then tossing off the last of his whisky and curtly wishing us goodnight, he left.
‘He’s just like James, isn’t he?’ I said in exasperation. ‘Exactly the same iron-clad technique.’
‘Take us the foxes, the little foxes, that spoil the vines,’ Patrick said to himself.
I was puzzled for a moment and then recollected that F9 operatives were referred to as foxes, from their call-sign, Foxtrot 9. ‘Where’s the quotation from?’ I asked.
‘The Bible, Song of Solomon. With that job he has to be a Super.’ Patrick laughed softly. ‘I liked the way he finished his drink before he went.’
Definitely not amused, I retorted, ‘So where the hell does that leave us?’
‘It depends on Greenway.’
‘I see no reason why a policeman’s murder investigation should degenerate into inter-departmental gamesmanship.’
‘Nor do I,’ Patrick said grimly. ‘Thought about like that, it’s bloody disgusting.’
Bristol CID on one side, F9 on the other and us in the middle, I mused. The situation could not be allowed to continue and, if it did, I could see Patrick relinquishing the job, even if it meant resigning. I had expected Michael Greenway to blow his top when the latest developments were reported to him but he merely requested that we meet him again and, on second thoughts, said he would come to our hotel as he had a later appointment nearby.
Patrick, who I know had lost sleep over it, came straight to the point. ‘I can’t work like this,’ he said. ‘The man we met last night, who would prefer you not to know his real name for professional reasons – his exact choice of words – feels he has sole ownership of this case and when he left us was about to inform you of the fact. I can’t be expected to tiptoe between policemen with ego problems.’
Greenway was magnanimous enough not to deem himself included in the criticism and said, ‘Yes, he did ring me last night and I have to say I was unaware that he has been using an alias. Are his preferences important to you?’
‘Only in the sense that he uses his real name when posing as a criminal so, obviously, his personal safety is highly important,’ Patrick answered. ‘But from the point of view that you’ll be kept in the dark with regard to an important aspect of this case if I don’t give you the information and I am, after all, working for you …’ He paused. ‘He’s Robert Kennedy.’
Greenway swore vividly and then hurriedly apologized to me, obviously not yet knowing that I was married to an enthusiastic exponent of the art. Then, after a few moments’ reflection he said, ‘It was your old MI5 boss, Richard Daws, who recommended you for this job, wasn’t it?’
‘So I believe.’
‘You must be aware that he’s just about running the agency and has done right from the beginning. But it’s still quite early days and everyone’s carrying on taking the advice of the experts. Daws likes your methods so let’s do it like that, his way.’
‘I had carte blanche in those days,’ Patrick observed.
‘Bugger that for a minute. Tell me what you’d have done, faced with a similar situation.’
‘It only puts a slightly different complexion on things. First, to recap and clarify matters, SOCA received an urgent official request from the Avon and Somerset Force to help solve a murder case. Unbeknown to anyone F9 has been working for some time on roughly parallel investigations, which actually represent a much bigger picture, hoping to catch criminals who have, according to Kennedy, outposts in every city and large town in the south and west of the country. He spent six months in prison – which I gather is one of F9’s specialities – in an effort to find out more from the inside. He didn’t tell us much, only that the tall man who would appear to be the managing director of Slaterford and Sons is calling himself Steven Ballinger and is probably the bossman of the criminal empire in that area. Kennedy wants all of them, not just him, not just a few. In my view it’s impossible to collar the lot but I agree with that sentiment – and that it’s his case.’
Greenway stared at Patrick, thunderstruck. ‘I was expecting you to say that you’d lift Kennedy and put him somewhere safe for a while to let you get on with the job.’
‘No,’ Patrick said with a smile. ‘You’ve been watching too many James Bond films.’
‘So SOCA just walks away?’ the other asked incredulously.
‘Not at all. As you’re no doubt aware, F9 is quite a small covert outfit, no one in uniform. You might not know that it operates out of what looks like a perfectly ordinary house near Woodford Green and on the edge of Epping Forest in Essex. They have to call up practically all they need in the way of everyday police equipment, including official vehicles when they need to use muscle, as they just have a few unmarked cars. They’ll have to ask for help eventually, when the time comes to make multiple arrests. You’re in contact with Kennedy. I suggest that in the light of a conflict of interests not being in anyone’s interest, least of all poor Morley’s, we start by offering two liaison officers, with immediate effect, one from Avon and Somerset Police and one from SOCA, Superintendent Paul Reece, and me – plus Ingrid of course.’
‘He might refuse – we can’t force him to agree.’
‘He can’t. It’s too important. And he won’t want to keep tripping over me, will he?’
Ten
This being real life there was no plan to break in to F9’s headquarters and appear, all smug smiles, arrayed with the cruet on the table in the canteen where Kennedy had his morning coffee, if indeed he ever did such a thing. Such fantasy should reside only in the overactive imaginations of authors. We were relying on Greenway getting Kennedy to agree to see us for further discussions and Reece being able to obtain clearance from his superiors to work within another department for a period of time that was being described as ‘short’. The immediate aftermath of both proposals was an extremely loud silence: Greenway had detected reluctance on Reece’s part from a personal point of view and could not get hold of Kennedy.
‘We don’t want Reece if he’s going to be fretting about a work overload back at base,’ I said.
‘No, you’re right,’ Patrick replied. ‘I don’t think I want his sergeant with a large chip on his shoulder instead either.’
My mobile rang and it was Elspeth.
‘That was to ask how I am and, in case it’s important, to tell us that the rumour was wrong and Hagtop Farm has been bought by an executive of Marks and Spencer, not Slaterford and Sons,’ I reported.
‘Good luck to them,’ Patrick replied. ‘Good, that clears that out of the way.’
‘And Slaterfords has a closing-down sale, starting today.’ Elspeth had not mentioned anything about having to move from the rectory.
‘I don’t know whether that’s good or bad news. Does it mean they’re pulling out of that area or merely making it look as though they are? For after all, Kennedy mopped up a few of their boys on the delivery run – that must have shaken someone a bit. They could even be brazenly ignoring little glitches like that and going for the big redevelopment scheme.’
‘Now we know that the men who arrived at the warehouse were police, or at
least the important ones were, couldn’t we risk having another snoop round the store? I mean, the place will probably be mobbed for the sale so we’re unlikely to be recognized.’
‘I’ll grow a quick beard. But it rather depends on what happens today.’ Patrick gave me a very straight look. ‘Do you know for sure if you’re pregnant yet?’
‘I haven’t had time to go and buy a testing kit,’ I answered lamely. In actual fact I was shrinking from knowing the truth: in my heart of hearts I didn’t want another baby. So for the present, stupidly perhaps, I wanted the question mark to remain one.
Sometimes he seems to be able to read my thoughts. ‘But if you are, you wouldn’t … I mean, if you really didn’t want it would you …?’
‘Have an abortion? No, of course not.’
No, that would never be on the agenda. Not ever. Ye gods, we would have to give Carrie a big rise.
Later again, when we had snatched a sandwich for lunch and Patrick had gone off to see if he could get a problem with the car’s locking and alarm system fixed my phone rang again.
‘I’ve just had a call from Greenway,’ Patrick said. ‘He’s finally caught up with Kennedy. The signal was appalling and he could hardly hear what the man was saying but managed to gather that he wasn’t too happy about the arrangement, which I suppose is to be expected. He asked if he could have a chat with you and me again before he made any decisions. I said I was tied up for a bit – they’ve got the car plugged into some electronic gear to see what the trouble is but the bloke thinks he can sort it out today – so Greenway suggested you went. Would you do that? You’re good at talking people round.’
‘Where will I meet him?’ I asked.
‘He’s on his way back from a meeting and plans to walk across Hyde Park for some fresh air as he has a hell of a headache. He said he’d be at Speakers’ Corner at around two. There’s a café, actually in the park, not far from there. Ring me when you arrive and I’ll get there as soon as I can – unless you phone again to tell me the arrangement’s off. Sorry, I must go, the mechanic’s waving me over. See you later.’
Blood Substitute Page 12
